


The Journal of Mycroft Holmes

by Kati67



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Love, Diary/Journal, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Hurt, Pain, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-12 19:05:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5677129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kati67/pseuds/Kati67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sherlock's last drug abuse Mycroft is thinking back of how it all began. He has kept a journal from Sherlock's first time using anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How it began

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure how this story will develope so the tags may change still.

The minute I was stepping off the plane I felt depleted. It was yet another time, another chance. I understood him all too well although I did not find that to be an excuse for this behaviour. He dismissed me once again, put me aside like yesterday's papers. I was the only one who was, who is, always there for him. Evidently Lestrade is a good friend, Ms Hooper too. Dr Watson even, although he in my humble opinion might have been the catalyst these last few years for Sherlock's drug abuse. It is always hard to see him come out of his high: only to know he will be so low one day he will need a fix. I am a patient man, I am not one to boast but I am proud to say that I am the one who is and always shall be there for him; my little troubled brother.

It all started so long ago...

Sherlock was always a bright young lad; very advanced for his age. When he went to primary school he was teased quite a lot I'm afraid. Ms Hooper who lived next door to us at the time with her parents of course was his friend even then. Although there is that one thing; Sherlock never really needed friends, or pretended to. When he was bullied yet again Molly Hooper shy as she was, was there to defend him. Sherlock's response being; thank you, you're a pal’.  
Now I do not know much about women but I am pretty sure a girl in her teens doesn't want to be told she's a 'pal' not the way she always looked at my brother. Those puppy dog eyes were always googling up at him wanting his attention. But Sherlock certainly did not see that. He was busy with his experiments or with whatever he was doing at the time. I was so much older than he was. With seven years apart he was just a ‘baby’ to me then so we never really connected. When he was old enough to get my interest I was already in college.

I’m drifting away from the subject. Although I was away, I always felt the need to protect my younger brother, I don’t know why specifically. He had a destructive nature of some sorts. Once at a winter break when he got home all bruised up and I was home to see it he asked me why those boys did that to him. I answered; ‘Because you are different than they are Sherlock. You and I are not like the rest of them and you should always be grateful we aren’t. We don’t run around after a silly ball or feel the need to beat other boys into a pulp just for the fun of it. We use our brains and it bothers them’

‘But why Mycroft’ Sherlock looked at me with his right eye black and blue and blood running out of his nose.

‘Because, little brother, you and I have something they don’t. We are the smart ones. Don’t you mind about those boys, don’t you care about it one bit that they don’t want to be your friends. Caring isn’t an advantage Sherlock’

I patched him up before mother came home but I will never forget the look on his face. I’m afraid even then he wanted more than he could get and he wanted to forget it all. Later that night when I went to check on him I saw he had found some migraine pills mother sometimes took. He was completely out of it. I didn’t tell mother but I sat next to him all night and woke him every hour to make sure he was alright. The next morning I made him promise not to do that again. I should have known that wouldn’t have been the last of it. That was the night I began my journal. I’m afraid it is all about my dear little brother Sherlock.

\---

_Redbeard_

Today was probably one of the worst days of my life. Mother asked me to look after Sherlock while she and father had to go to the vet with Redbeard. I wanted to go too but mother didn’t think it wise. Sherlock was crying the whole time. Mother told me he is too young to understand but I know he is not. I should be the responsible one; I am the oldest after all. But Redbeard was my dog, I feel saddened to know he isn’t coming back. I told Sherlock again that caring isn’t an advantage but he cries anyway. Even though he was my dog Sherlock loved him and he loved Sherlock. I don’t think I have ever seen Sherlock happier than in the presence of that dog.  
Sherlock is a difficult child. He always was. I may be the older brother but I do feel responsible for him. Mother doesn’t know half the things Sherlock is capable of.

When mother and father got back Sherlock looked everywhere for Redbeard. Mother told him he was gone and had to comfort him. Finally I got the chance to grieve myself. I heard Sherlock sobbing in his room for a long time. Mother asked me to stay home with him when she went grocery shopping and father was gone back to work. I was in my room when I heard a loud bang coming from the bathroom. Sherlock was on the floor when I walked in, his hands on mother’s sleeping pills bottle. He had taken a few he said and when I looked inside the bottle a lot were still there.

‘Why, Sherlock?’ I asked him.

‘You said that caring isn’t an advantage’ Sherlock replied ‘and it hurts so much Mycroft’

I pulled the bottle from out of his hands and placed it back in the bathroom cabinet. I brought Sherlock to his bed and when I tucked him in I made him promise not to do that ever again. But as I am well aware; Sherlock isn’t very good in keeping such promises. I fear for him, I really do. I sat with him for the second time in his life and I fear it won’t be the last.

\---

_St. Bart’s_

Mother called today while I was at work. It was my first day so it was quite embarrassing to say the least. I had to go to St. Bart’s immediately she said; Sherlock had taken an overdose at college. She had gotten a call from the headmaster. He was in St. Bart’s hospital and they almost had to pump his stomach. Living in Sussex she couldn’t be there in time. So there I went again, on my way to my little brother’s aid. When I arrived at St. Bart’s the nurse told me he was asleep. I walked into the room where I stood watching him for a while. He was as pale as the sheet he was under. His dark curly hair all messy and in knots, he would curse it when he’d wake up. He was angelic lying there. His breathing was shallow but steady. God the times I’ve been through it all already. I really couldn’t remember which time this was; perhaps the sixth, the seventh maybe. I looked at the chart at the end of the bed; what was it this time? Antidepressants mixed with a lot (a whole lot) of alcohol). Even Sherlock must have fallen into the trap of the odd sorority party I guess. His antidepressants don’t mix with alcohol and he knows it.  
I quietly left the room to call my mother not to come as promised. Not mentioning the pills just the alcohol, no need for them to worry. ‘All is well, mother, no need to come over. Just a silly party you know how those are! Yes mother I will take care of him, I always do. Goodbye mother’ Sad really, they don’t know their own son, or should I say sons? There is no doubt in my mind that I will take care of him, I always have and I always will.  
I walked back to his room where he was still sleeping it off.  
I pulled up a chair and sat next to him. This would take another couple of hours.  
When he finally woke up he didn’t know what was going on or what had happened.

‘Mycroft, where am I?’

‘You’re in St Bart’s Sherlock’

‘Why?’

‘Because they brought you in with an overdose, Sherlock, you know better than to drink with your pills!’

He sank down in his pillows again ‘Oh Mycroft, don’t mother me’ He immediately sat up again ‘Does she know, mother?’

‘No, she doesn’t, I only told her about the alcohol, I had to tell her something, and your headmaster has called her’

‘The bastard’

‘Sherlock, really, why are you doing this to yourself? Or to me for that matter, do you know it’s my first day on my new job? I had to leave that, they’ll probably fire me!’

‘They won’t sack you, you’re the best they’ve got’’

‘Sherlock…’

‘I know, I know’

‘I can’t even ask you to promise me anymore, you don’t keep them’

‘Yes I’m a horrible brother’

‘Sherlock, for god’s sake, stop ruining yourself’

‘You almost sound like you care. Caring isn’t an advantage Mycroft’

‘Right; get dressed. I’ll take you back to college and Sherlock…’

‘I’ll behave’

‘Thank you’

He didn’t of course. I think Sherlock is the most troubled man in the whole world.


	2. Making a promise and sticking to it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft is continuing with his journal and tells about the time he nearly found Sherlock for dead and made him promise to make a list

My brother is a very smart man but if you’d ask me in front of him I would deny that I had ever said that of course. He could have been anything he set his mind to; a scientist, a professor even that bloody pirate that he wanted to be as a child. But what do you think my dear brother chose as a profession? He wanted to be a consulting detective of all the things he could be. There was no talking him out of it; that was what he wanted so that was what it was going to be. He graduated with honours and moved to London where mother’s friend Mrs Hudson had a room to let.

Sherlock knew I would keep an eye on him I’m sure. He had a client or two but most of the time he did some laboratory work. It was there where he could get his hands on all kinds of different drugs. Nobody was aware of any of it for a long time. Sherlock had always been someone who was keeping a distance from others, who was alone most of the time. His only friend was Ms Hooper who was working in the morgue connected to the laboratory where Sherlock did his part-timework for. She had always stayed his friend from when they were toddlers. I must admit I admire her strength; befriending my little brother mustn’t be easy. He can be quite closed off at times but she has been holding on, coming back to him every time letting him know she was there for him no matter what. Not that he always appreciated that. He can come across as a very cold person when I know he is not; quite the opposite actually. He has told me many times that he doesn’t want people getting too close to him. When I asked him why he said; ‘Alone is what I have, alone protects me’  
I fear I have created a monster for which I am most sorry. I have told him all that nonsense when he was young and now he can’t be anything else but disagreeable most of the time. I am the first to admit to myself that I am like that too but I never wanted him to be like that. Or even worse, I fear he is even more of a loner than I am. Poor boy, poor Sherlock; what are we doing to ourselves?

\---

_The start on the road to nowhere_

Sherlock’s work brought him pleasure, I could tell. He felt alive if he could deduce and try to figure out the ‘whodunnit’ part of his detective work. He was in his element so to speak. It was a joy to see him at work, to see him come to life as he was near the conclusion of one of his cases. But in the end it was always the aftermath of it all. When a case was done and he was in between cases and he was forced to work at the laboratory. Not that he minded so much as that he arrogantly thought he was too good for them, which he probably was.

One day Molly Hooper stood in my office; I never will forget that day for as long as I live. It was a dark dreary day. It had rained all morning and I was just about to have a late lunch when she suddenly stood there; dripping wet on my carpet pale as a sheet.

‘Ms Hooper, what can I do for you?’ I asked her politely.

‘Have you heard from Sherlock?’ She asked me.

‘Sherlock, no why, should I have?’

‘I thought perhaps you had. He hasn’t been in you see, not at all, for days’

‘He was supposed to I gather’

‘Yes, he said he would help me all week. I tried calling him but there’s no answer and Mrs Hudson hasn’t seen him either’

That’s when I started to worry.

Sherlock might not get to work but he would surely go home. He loved his home; he always got back to it. The rooms were furnished when he got them and he had hardly changed it but it was cosy even I had to admit that much. A living room with a couch and two big comfortable chairs where he and I sat and played chess in once a week, a small kitchen, a bathroom and Sherlock’s bedroom. It was enough for a man alone. Mrs Hudson was always mothering over him so if she hadn’t seen him there must be something amiss.

I followed Ms Hooper to Baker Street in the hope we would find him there. No such luck, he wasn’t there, there wasn’t even a sign he had been there. I immediately started to make a few phone calls; I know who to call and who to trust. Ms Hooper went back to the laboratory in case he would turn up. I asked around and it turned out that the last person to talk to him was someone at the laboratory three days before. Ms Hooper looked through the inventory on my request and indeed there were some items missing. My contacts phoned me back telling me they had a location for me.

Oh brother dear, what I saw there I never hope to see again. There you were lying in dirt in filth; the smell was indescribable. I walked into some sort of unused sewerage where all these men were lying. Unwashed, dirty, smelly; it was cold and damp. Some people didn’t even have blankets; some did. In between these men and some women there I found my little brother. Someone had put a filthy blanket over you I should be grateful for that at least. People were coughing, gasping, not a very healthy place to be. Sherlock was moaning when I touched his arm. His hair in knots, dirt on his face and when he opened his eyes his pupils were dilated. He looked at me with bloodshot eyes but he didn’t recognise me.

‘Sherlock, it’s me Mycroft’

All of a sudden without a warning Sherlock started screaming and he got spasms. I was startled and tried to wake him up but he didn’t react at all. His eyes rolled backward and the shaking got worse. I had called for an ambulance as soon as I knew where to find him and when I heard the siren I ran outside to show them where my brother was. They had a hard time getting the stretcher in there but finally they got Sherlock on it, put him on a drip and gave him some sort of injection to calm him. Ultimately they got him into the ambulance and we drove to St. Bart’s once again.

I am told it was a close call. If I had been there any later he could have died. He had so much drugs in his system it wasn’t even possible to name them all. It took weeks before he was even conscious enough to talk to him. I sat there many times next to the bed to talk to him, trying to wake him up. Many a time I thought I was losing my brother. When he finally woke up he was thinner than he’d ever been, paler than before.

‘Hi’ he said opening his eyes.

‘Sherlock’ I said rather coldly I’m afraid.

‘What happened?’

‘You had an overdose, Sherlock and almost died’

‘Oh’

‘Do you know how worried I’ve been?’

‘It won’t…’

‘Stop it, just stop it. Don’t promise me things you are not intending to keep’

‘I don’t want you to worry’

‘I know you will always feel the need to take ‘something’. It can’t be helped I guess. I do want you to promise me one thing though; always keep a list of what you have taken. They had a pretty hard time to track all the stuff from your blood’

‘Okay’

‘Sherlock, I am serious’

‘I know, I will, I feel horrible. I know it was close’

From that moment on every time when Sherlock had done drugs he had a list in his pocket of what he had been using.

At least he kept that promise.


	3. Nobody said it was easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft continues his journal where Sherlock starts to do consulting work for Scotland Yard and John Watson moves into Baker Street.

Meeting Greg Lestrade must have been a turning point of some sorts for both Sherlock as for me. Sherlock’s work at the laboratory got less now he got more cases so his need for using subsided. We still met at least once a week although Sherlock did not always want me to come over I kept him to this appointment. We played chess whilst I secretly tried to check for signs of drug abuse.

‘Stop that, it’s annoying’ Sherlock would say without even looking up from the board.

‘Stop what?’ I would ask, pretending not knowing what he was talking about.

He would always sigh, place his long fingers under his chin, look at me and say; ‘When you want to know if I’m using again, do at least have the curtesy to ask, Mycroft’

He was right of course. It was rather rude of me but then again so was ignoring the promises he had made in the past which I won’t dwell on anymore. Like I said; there were no signs for a long time. Lestrade would ask his help and he would gladly give it. Not everyone got a liking to him at Scotland Yard. He wasn’t a likable man most of the time to be honest and that’s saying it the nicest way possible; as his brother. The detective inspector got along with him but as for the other detectives, well let’s just say they were not as keen to have Sherlock on a case as detective inspector Lestrade was. Not that Sherlock minded of course; he went even so far as to call himself a ‘consulting detective’; a name he said he created for himself. Needless to say that raised a few eyebrows.

Of course I was relieved that Sherlock didn’t seem to be needing a ‘fix’ as he himself called it. I did catch him smoking now and again but so did I once in a while. But the cases were keeping him busy, the days were going by and one day I came to meet Doctor John Watson the man who was going to split the rent with my brother. Dr Watson was a retired army doctor with a psychosomatic injury although at the time he didn’t seem to know that himself yet. I went through all the security measures to be sure the doctor could be trusted. Sherlock seemed to think so and soon enough Dr Watson became a part of not only Sherlock’s work but also his entire life even though Sherlock would be the first to deny that.

\---

Sherlock is a man of many talents no one can deny that. He is also a man that has a lot of things lacking; one of the things being tact. He absolutely doesn’t care or rather doesn’t see it if he is hurting people with the things he does or says. He even downright insults them without having a clue which for a very smart man is amazingly astonishing. Dr Watson has had his share of insults; as have I. But most of his comments go to the detectives of Scotland Yard if anyone. He doesn’t even see that is why they don’t like to work with him or don’t understand why Lestrade is asking him over and over again to help them. He can also be very sarcastic and has a very dark side. Everyone knows everything about Sherlock’s cases as Dr Watson’s blog is so popular these days, so I don’t want to talk about those. I only want to talk about our brotherly relationship if any and Sherlock’s drug abuse. Although sometimes the cases are a reason of his drug use I’m sure.

Because of course it didn’t stop. It never just stops, not for me, not for Dr Watson, not for anyone. Sherlock will always need something. He will use the excuse he will need it for a very difficult case; to go deeper in his Mind Palace, or any other. His Mind Palace is a technique he uses to think, to become empty of all thoughts except the ones he needs for the case. It is very useful but sometimes very complicated for him to get in deeper.

Even detective inspector Lestrade had his flat searched for drugs more than once and still Sherlock keeps defying the odds.

On a Friday evening when I was on a walk through London, I saw Dr Watson walking arm in arm with a lady. He saw me and greeted me.

‘Mycroft, nice evening isn’t it?’

‘Dr Watson’

‘This is Sarah’ he hastily said.

I nodded to the woman; I knew I could be blunt as well. ‘John, weren’t you and Sherlock working on a case?’

‘Ah yes, we were but I just had to get an evening off’ John grinned sheepishly to the woman.

‘Right and Sherlock is at home?’

‘Yes he is’

I said my goodbyes and walked on to Baker Street where Mrs Hudson let me in.

‘It’s been quiet for ages. I’ve been trying to bring him his tea but he just shut the door just after John left’ she said indignantly.

‘Thank you Mrs Hudson, I’ll have a look’ I said walking up the stairs glad to have brought my own key. I suddenly feared I would need that.

When I opened the door, Sherlock was on the sofa with his eyes closed, hands folded on his breast. I closed the door before Mrs Hudson could walk in behind me and hear her mutter behind the closed door.

I took Sherlock’s pulse which was rapidly beating. I opened one of his eyes and saw a dilated pupil. I shook him; ‘Where is the list, Sherlock?’

There was no response and I searched his pockets. Cocaine this time, that wasn’t too bad, as for bad goes. It would wear off. I dragged him to his bedroom where I put him on his bed and tucked him in. ‘For god sake Sherlock, did you want him to find you like this?’ I said to his unconscious body.  
I sat beside him for a long while until I was sure he would be alright. His breathing became steadier and he was sleeping instead of being completely knocked out.

I heard the front door being opened and John walking in. So I opened Sherlock’s bedroom and showed myself.

‘Mycroft? What are you doing still here?’ John looked at me with surprise on his face.

I looked at my pocket watch; it was almost 3 in the morning. ‘Sherlock wasn’t feeling well so I put him to bed’ I said.

‘What’s wrong shall I look at him?’ he already walked towards Sherlock’s bedroom.

‘No need Dr Watson. Sherlock is sleeping soundly now. You know how a difficult sleeper he is’

‘Right, true, I won’t go in then. Sleep is probably the best thing if he’s not feeling well’

‘Yes’

I went to my little brother’s bedroom to have one more look but he was sleeping like a baby. Snoring even, he was lying flat on his stomach one hand over the edge of the bed, dangling, the other under his pillow. His dark curls were spread over his face and he was drooling a bit. He was angelic I thought. When he was little and I watched him sleep he could look like that as well. I sighed; it weighed heavily on my heart that my brother would think that his problems would be easily solved with sustenance.

‘When he’s sleeping, it almost looks like he hasn’t a care in the world, doesn’t it?’ Dr Watson whispered next to me.

‘Almost’ I said closing the door softly.


	4. A lot of blame going around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft continues his journal after the Great Game and describes the problems Sherlock faces when he's having another problem concerning drugs

It’s indescribable how guilty I am feeling. I send him over the edge; I must have felt it at some point when I got him this case but I thought it would be alright. As long as he was working he would be fine. How could I have been so incredibly wrong? Of course I couldn’t have known about him; the perpetrator. James Moriarty. A mind almost similar to Sherlock’s only devious and vicious to a fault.

When my secretary Andrea brought me my mail this morning I saw it. The tiny envelope in Sherlock’s handwriting and I my heart sank in my chest. When I opened that before even bothering with the other mail and saw the list inside I asked Andrea to cancel all my other appointments. I knew where I could find him; not at home where Dr Watson would be, unware of Sherlock’s drug use. No, he would be at some hobo shack hiding until I would have found him. I had nobody to blame but myself; I was the one who had brought his attention on this case and set him and Dr Watson in danger unknowingly so, but still.

When I stepped into my car I tried calling my brother even though I knew it would be no use. It rang but there was no answer. Of course he wouldn’t answer, he couldn’t. Where to start? In the past there had been so many places he’d hidden away from me finding him. I let the driver drive past all of them to no prevail. I’ve spend the good part of the day searching for him even thinking of calling Dr Watson or detective inspector Lestrade to help, dismissing the thought as it came in my head. Of course I couldn’t ask them for help. Sherlock would not want anyone to know. It had gotten worse; or rather he had gotten worse after this last case. I should have seen it coming and I didn’t. I should have been there for him.

Moriarty had kept Sherlock busy with people in bomb jackets which wasn’t the worst part of it; Sherlock liked that case if one could talk about liking such a case; no it wasn’t the case but the fact that Moriarty had put John Watson in a bomb jacket as well with guns pointed at him that did him over I suspect. Sherlock would certainly never mention it but he really had quite a blow after that. Sure he said he was fine and nothing to worry over but didn’t we all worry over Moriarty being the new archenemy? My contacts did the necessary research and I was very busy with trying to take control over all of that so I lost track of my brother. So yes, I feel responsible and to blame for what had happened now.

\---

Finally I found him totally wasted and withered away. There was nothing I could do but to stay with him until it wore off. He had to go cold turkey again.

‘Haven’t we gone through this already, Sherlock? Isn’t it enough?’ I said wiping his head with a cold wet cloth.

He moaned and tossed and turned. Soon he would start to shake as a leaf begging me for more drugs and I would have to be strong enough to say no. The times I’ve been through this with my brother; I can’t count them anymore it’s been too much too many. Every time I fear he’s going to need more, stronger things to get his ‘high’ until someday he won’t come out of it anymore. I sat there fearing the worst like I did every time. Perhaps Sherlock shouldn’t be a consulting detective anymore, I thought, perhaps I should get him committed to a clinic. But then again, perhaps I needed to distance myself more from his problems as well as he didn’t seem to care at all what it did to me or anyone else for that matter.

‘Feeling sorry for yourself again?’ I heard him say.

When I looked up I saw he had woken up out of his drowsiness. He had one eye open and was getting to be his sarcastic self again.

‘I really wish you would be’ I replied ‘if you could only see yourself now’ I said shaking my head.

‘Stop with the lecture, will you. I’m not in the mood for one of those’

‘Well we don’t always get what we want, now do we, Sherlock’

He was still in and out of consciousness and his reactions weren’t all there yet but I could tell he got rather annoyed with me which was a good sign I thought so I continued ‘You might consider someone else for a change’

‘Who might that be, you?’ His laugh or attempt of one went on in a cough and a nasty one at best.

‘Can’t you see what you’re doing to yourself or me for that matter? I blame myself as much as anyone for it but Sherlock, you can stop this’

I dipped the cloth in the cold water again to put on his warm forehead but he shoved me aside.

‘Yes’ he said ‘you are to blame. You should have known where you were sending me into’

‘That’s not you talking that are the drugs’

‘Keep telling yourself that’

‘Sherlock, where’s the list?’ I suddenly had a hunch where this was coming from.

‘I sent you one’

‘The other list’

With a trembling hand Sherlock reached under his blanket and handed me a second list. On it were a lot of downers. No wonder he was acting like this, not that he was very chipper normally but this explained why he reacted the way he did.

‘Sherlock, why on earth have you taken these?’ I looked at him; his eyes red, bloodshot. This brilliant man, my brother wasn’t a hint of himself right now.

‘Oh for god sake Mycroft’ he moaned still shaking of the detox ‘you have brought some with you right?’

‘No I have not’

‘What good are you anyway!’ he shouted while turning and facing the wall.

‘Good enough to appear every time you seem to need my assistance it seems’ I said standing up dusting my suit which seemed to be ruined anyway ‘but don’t be afraid; I won’t make that mistake again’

As I started to walk away I heard him say ‘Oh Mycroft don’t be an ass, come back’

I kept on walking. It was enough, more than I could handle. There was enough blame put on each other.  
It was time I left my little brother to fence for himself for once.  
Sometimes letting someone go is the only way to heal.


	5. Knight in shining armour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft writes down the aftermath of the Irene Adler story.

Sherlock finally came to me and sort of apologised. When I say sort of I mean exactly that. We are not the men to express our feelings to one another really. The fact that I’m so open hearted in my journal is just because it’s only for my own eyes to see. If Sherlock knew he would call me a sentimental fool which indeed I am. I taught him caring is not an advantage which it is not but he is my little brother and as ever I have for some weird reason, a weakness for my brother and his problems. I cannot help that nor ignore them.  
So it was over and done with I thought at least until the next time he needed his sustenance. But of course it was never over and done with, not when your brother is Sherlock and thinks he needs something to help him think whether that something is nicotine patches or drugs. He did well on nicotine patches a long time until he met her. I would have never have thought anyone could shake him up as bad as she had done. Accept for Dr Watson of course. But there she was, out of the blue she turned up. Of course he took the case and got deeply involved. He even got me involved as well. I did think nothing of it until it was already too late really.  
She was smart I grant her that; almost as smart as my brother, cunning too. She knew exactly how to play her cards right to get his attention. He was never very interested or involved in the other sex to be frank. He knew Molly for years and they had been friends for ages. Molly wanted more than to be just friends, one could tell. Sherlock couldn’t, he never even noticed that she looked at him with those puppy eyes or did her best to please him to do extra things while he was working there with her. Why would he? He was concentrating, working; he never noticed anything or anyone whilst working. Her hovering was annoying to say the least. Her efforts to gain his attention only gave her a contemptuous smirk if anything. As far as I know he never wanted to be involved with women. Friendship was far more than anyone could expect of him. Molly knew that but I could see she had hope of more. Silly girl.  
So why was the woman different? Why was Irene Adler the one person who could get to him? Was it her brain, her personality, the fact she played with him? To this day I do not know the answer to that. All I know is that Sherlock was pretty shaken up after she’d gone. I had to lie to him which I found hard to do. I even got Dr Watson involved to lie too. We had to tell Sherlock that she’d gone to America into a witness protection programme. My only hope is that he bought it and left well enough alone.  
\---  
Dr Watson called me early this morning if I’d seen Sherlock. He hadn’t seen him for days now. It seems that Sherlock has left without saying a word. ‘He wouldn’t do that if he hadn’t a good reason, Mycroft’ Dr Watson said.  
I wasn’t too sure about that. Sherlock may have had his reasons but they would not always be clear to us and certainly not to Dr Watson. Sherlock had made it very clear to me that under no circumstance Dr Watson could learn of his drug use.  
I have honoured that request up until now but he is making it harder and harder for me to do so.  
The first thing I did was drive to his usual places but he wasn’t to be found. I made a few calls and put people to work to look for him. A few hours later one of my contacts rang me back; Sherlock had been spotted in Pakistan of all places. When I asked him if he was alone he told me there was a woman with him. My heart sank in my shoes at that point. That woman could only mean one thing; trouble!  
I sent my contacts after them to secure both my brother and her. This time to really sent her into a witness protection programme and bring my brother home.  
‘You shouldn’t have interfered’ he said walking in throwing my door open.  
‘Good morning to you as well, Sherlock’ I looked at him closely. His eyes seemed normal for now.  
‘I am quite capable of dealing with things like that myself thank you Mycroft’ he snarled.  
‘I am aware of that Sherlock however I thought it wise to send the jet anyway’  
‘Hmph’ he said sitting himself down in the chair across my desk.  
‘Tea?’ I asked ‘Andrea tea please’ I immediately called through my intercom.  
‘I’m exhausted’ Sherlock admitted.  
‘I can imagine’ I looked at him.  
‘No Mycroft I haven’t’ he sighed ‘not that I wasn’t tempted though’  
‘Good’ I said relieved ‘what is it about her that makes you want to jump up and leave everything to play the knight in shining armour anyway?’  
He snorted ‘Knight in shining armour, me? I honestly don’t know, Mycroft, I wish I did. Is she safe?’  
‘She is, sorry to have to lie to you the first time, but she is where she’s supposed to be now’  
‘Good’ he said distracted.  
Andrea brought in the tea and poured two cups before she left again.  
‘Thank you Andrea’ I said.  
‘Ah, tea’ Sherlock took his cup and wrapped his long fingers around the cup to warm them before taking a sip.  
‘John was really worried’  
‘He was? Yes I left without saying anything. Does he know I’m back yet?’  
I nodded ‘I have texted him, yes’  
‘Good’ he said distracted again.  
‘Sherlock, can I ask you a personal and improper question? Are you in love with her?’  
He started to laugh, a raw short laugh; ‘God no! Have you ever seen me in love? Pff, that’s for the weak minded’  
‘What was it then that made you do all that?’  
He crossed his legs and folded his hands under his chin and looked pensive. He was quiet for a while, thinking before he answered; ‘You know, Mycroft I really can’t answer that question as I don’t know the answer to it myself. I think I was attracted to her mind in a way; the way she was thinking was somewhat similar to my way and she was very clever’  
‘Very clever indeed’ I thought it wise not to bring up the fact she was not so clever that she almost got herself beheaded in Pakistan for the sake of our brotherly comradery.  
‘But you know as well as I do’ Sherlock continued ‘there is only one love for me’  
‘Oh?’ There was? I couldn’t have reacted more surprised.  
‘Yes of course Mycroft’  
‘Have I missed something?’  
He smirked ‘Oh Mycroft your face, really… Yes of course, my work!’  
‘Ah, right, of course’ No that wasn’t it I thought but not saying it.  
Sherlock finished his tea and left for Baker Street again. I was glad he survived this without seemingly any scratches. Hopefully there wouldn’t be this time. He had enough to last him a life time, as had I.  
Come to think of it; Sherlock has trouble with addictions, he may have not needed ‘his fix’ this time because she had filled in the gap. She was in some twisted way an addiction while she was part of his life. That was the only way I could explain the whole situation. Irene Adler was Sherlock’s quick fix. Nothing more, nothing less and I couldn’t decide if she was less harmless than other drugs just yet. 


	6. Hounded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft writes in his Journal after Sherlock has returned from Devonshire.

Sherlock and I were playing chess after he’d been away to Devon. I thought he was different although I couldn’t put my finger on it why that was. Just that he seemed different somehow, he didn’t speak much about his time in Devonshire with Dr Watson but if Sherlock spent most of his time playing chess with me than something must have triggered that. I felt it best to wait until he would talk about it himself. Our brotherly bond had just started to heal as it were and I didn’t want to risk that by asking too many questions.  
Sherlock wasn’t much around John these days and I wondered what could have happened up there in Devonshire between those two that would make Sherlock want to be around his brother so much and away from home and Dr Watson, and new cases for that matter. Still I left it up to him to talk about it although I must admit my curiosity took the upper hand now and again.

‘Stop looking at me’ Sherlock would say. Or; ‘Stop that, it’s annoying’

‘What ever do you mean?’ I would reply innocently.

He only sighed and rolled his eyes at me and went on playing. 

‘How is Dr Watson?’ I would try.

‘I wouldn’t know’ his only reply was.

‘You live under the same roof do you not?’

‘Do I look like his mother?’ Sherlock sighed again annoyingly.

‘How was the trip to Devonshire? I always loved Dartmoor. Beautiful countryside, wide open spaces, gorgeous’

‘You go next time’

‘You didn’t find it to your liking?’

‘Sure, lovely, your move’

‘But?’

‘Mycroft…’

‘I’m sorry Sherlock; it’s none of my business’

He suddenly stood up, knocking down his chair ‘You’re right, it’s not’ and started to pace up and down the floor.  
‘Three patches Mycroft from when I left until now. Every damn day’

He rolled up his sleeve and revealed his arm with the nicotine patches on them.

‘Sherlock, surely that is too much!’ I said rather shocked and relieved at the same time.

‘I know but I feel so damn restless all the time, Mycroft! I can’t help it, with or without the patches I am agitated all the time’

‘Devonshire didn’t help then?’

‘At first it did. Interesting case, blood pumping you know all that. But then the same old problem started. Can I be frank Mycroft without being judged for once?’

‘Of course you can!’ I almost felt indignant about him asking me that.

‘I feel haunted sometimes by my own thoughts or hounded after this last case if you will.  
It’s not as much the need for drugs or something like that as it is the need to feel anything at all. At first I thought with the drugs… it helped me to feel something, anything. But now I don’t know any more what I’m feeling and it’s damn confusing’

I looked at him with his helpless look on his face. We were never a family of sharing love for one another but at this moment I wish we had been like one of those families. I didn’t know what to do. If I should hold him, hug him or just pat him on the back. Mother would say something like ‘there, there, everything will be alright’ but would it? We never were men of showing our feelings so would it ever be alright? Would a simple fix like that, a hug, help?  
I stood up from the chess table and walked over to him and hugged him clumsily.

‘What are you doing?’ he said.

‘I believe this is what they call ‘hugging’’ I answered.

‘No really?’ his sarcastic reply came ‘what are YOU doing?’

I withdrew and took a step back ‘It was worth a try’ I shrugged.

‘Don’t do that again’ he shook his head.

‘I wouldn’t dream of it’ I said.

‘That was just awkward Mycroft; we don’t do things like that’

‘No, but you looked like you needed it’

‘Hmph’

That was it. Nothing was said about the subject then. We played chess and nothing more.

\---

I do feel guilty. I haven’t been honest to Sherlock. I haven’t told him that I had to let Moriarty go. I don’t know what that will do to him if I tell him nor will I know what that will entail for the future, for my brother.   
He will be watched or course but still… I fear for my brother’s life.   
So I have set some things in motion to insure that whenever Moriarty is going to strike (which he certainly will, there is no doubt in my mind whatsoever) that Sherlock will be secure, will be saved, rescued if you will. Of course I need to talk about it with my little brother; I can’t keep something of this importance from him. He needs to know so he can be prepared. I will certainly do so soon.   
For now I will leave him in blissful ignorance and peace.

That will be over soon enough. Sadly.  


	7. Fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft is writing about his thoughts and feelings after Reichenbach Falls

When I finally found the courage to talk to Sherlock about Moriarty I already had a plan in mind. I should have known of course that Sherlock would agree immediately. It was the only way to insure that Sherlock would be safe and possibly everyone else as well.  
But in hindsight I’m not sure I would have done it again like this. Dr Watson is a mess emotionally to say the least. I can’t tell him anything of course if not to endanger his life. We needed some help from a few people; Molly being one of them. Sherlock didn’t want to risk John’s life even though we both knew it meant he would be hurt like this.

Like I said in other entries of my journal; we are not an emotional family but writing it all down, living it again does bring it all back again and yes it hurts I am the first to admit it. Knowing you have to send your little brother into a dangerous situation alone with a madman is tough. The outcome could have been different all together. What if Moriarty had something else in mind or had shot him before we could have intervened? What then? The thought alone haunts me even now knowing Sherlock is safe.

Jim Moriarty was the greatest criminal mind England had known for a long time. He had threatened the jury and judge so he was freed from being sentenced for his crimes and therefor was free to go after my brother. We were all at risk; all of Sherlock’s family and friends were. If I think back of the things he created to make Sherlock look guilty of crimes he didn’t commit. Even my contacts and I were helpless against it.

I really don’t want to relive it all again. Sherlock told me that the moment he was standing on that rooftop he knew he and I had made the right choice. But even though he knew he couldn’t fall to his death, seeing John’s face and hearing his voice scream his name made it harder for him to do what needed to be done.

‘Moriarty needed to be stopped, Mycroft, at any cost’

‘Even Dr Watson’s mental state?’ I asked him.

He fell silent for a moment. We were on the private jet going far away from England as we could.  
‘Yes’ he said after a while ‘even that. John will be alright again, one day. I hope I can come back soon and explain’

I knew it would take a while before he could come back again but I couldn’t get myself to tell him that just yet. I looked at him and his face told me he knew already. He smiled a little at me; a sad smile and turned to face the window looking at the clouds. Thinking of what he had to leave behind was hard; harder even because it wasn’t his choice to leave.

\---

‘Dr Watson, John, how are you?’ I ran into Dr Watson while going on a jog through the park on a very early Sunday morning.

‘Mycroft?’ his voice came unsure ‘You jog?’

‘Yes well’ I shrugged petting my stomach ‘too much cake I guess’

‘Ah right’ John still looked uncomfortable seeing me in my tracksuit. I could only imagine; I felt uncomfortable.

‘How are you John?’

‘Oh you know…’ he looked at me with bloodshot eyes ‘I don’t sleep much’

‘Neither do I hence the running in the early morning’ I explained.

He nodded ‘I’m still in therapy but I don’t think it’s helping much’

‘How are Baker Street and Mrs Hudson?’

‘I wouldn’t know’

‘Excuse me?’

‘I moved out. Sorry maybe I should’ve said something. His things are there still’

I noticed he avoided Sherlock’s name deliberately.

‘I will call Mrs Hudson and take care of it’ I assured him.

‘Sorry Mycroft I just couldn’t live there anymore. Not alone, not without…’ he broke finally.

‘I am sorry John’ I simply said. I couldn’t tell him, I wanted to. I wanted to say; ‘John, he is still alive, Sherlock is alive, he will come home one day when he can, when it’s safe again’ but I knew I couldn’t. Not yet anyway.

‘I have to go’ John said ‘Goodbye Mycroft’ and before I could say anything he walked off into the dark.

\---

Once in a while I contacted my brother to see if he was alright. If anything could trigger the substance abuse again, this was the time for it. But he seemed to be doing as well as could be expected under these difficult circumstances. The British government had found this a perfect opportunity to put him under cover and he had to report in from time to time. If he couldn’t I had a number where I could reach him. It wasn’t like any of his normal routine cases but he seemed to be doing well enough. He always sounded chipper enough on the phone when we spoke. He never inquired about John or his friends in London. Always on guard it seemed. We both didn’t say anything about the length of time he still had to stay away to be safe. He knew without saying it. Moriarty may be dead, he still had influence beyond his grave and we both knew it. He didn’t want to risk his friends and family’s lives by returning back too early.

I a way I admire my brother more than he will ever know. I don’t think I could ever do what he has done; sacrificing himself for the lives of others. They don’t even know any of it which must hurt him; I know him well enough to know how he thinks and feels.  
And yes I must admit it; I miss him. I miss our chess evenings, our talks and even disagreeing with him.

I won’t ever let him know that of course but yes I miss Sherlock tremendously.


End file.
